n such a fashion that Eustace could not see her
face. But if he could not see her face she could see his in the glass,
and narrowly observed its every change, which, on the whole, though
natural, was rather mean of her.

Poor Eustace grew pale and paler yet, till his handsome countenance
became positively ghastly. It is wonderful how frightened young men are
the first time that they propose. It wears off afterwards--with practice
one gets accustomed to anything.

"Miss Smithers--Augusta," he gasped, "I want to say something to you!"
and he stopped dead.

"Yes, Mr. Meeson," she answered cheerfully, "what is it?"

"I want to tell you"--and again he hesitated.

"What you are going to do about the will?" suggested Augusta.

"No--no; nothing about the will--please don't laugh at me and put me
off!"

She looked up innocently--as much as to say that she never dreamed of
doing either of these things. She had a lovely face, and the glance of
the grey eyes quite broke down the barrier of his fears.

"Oh, Augusta, Augusta," he said, "don't you understand? I love you! I
love you! No woman was ever loved before as I love you. I fell in love
with you the very first time I saw you in the office at Meeson's, when
I had the row with my uncle about you; and ever since then I have got
deeper and deeper in love with you. When I thought that you were
drowned it nearly broke my heart, and often and often I wished that I
were dead, too!"

It was Augusta's turn to be disturbed now, for, though a lady's composure
will stand her in good stead up to the very verge of an affair of this
sort, it generally breaks down _in medias res_. Anyhow, she certainly
dropped her eyes and colored to her hair, while her breast began to heave
tumultuously.

"Do you know, Mr. Meeson," she said at last, without daring to look at
his imploring face, "that this is only the fourth time that we have seen
each other, including yesterday."

"Yes, I know," he said; "but don't refuse me on that, account; you can
see me as often as you like"--(this was generous of Master Eustace)--"and
really I know you better than you think. I should think that I have read
each of your books twenty times."

This was a happy stroke, for, however free from vanity a person may be,
it is not in the nature of a young woman to hear that somebody has read
her book twenty times without being pleased.

"I am not my books," said Augusta.

"No; but your books are part of you," he an